


Mirror in the Mirror

by MoonSpoon



Category: Lackadaisy (Webcomic)
Genre: Closure, Heartbreak, Past Relationships, Swearing, hang overs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24481987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonSpoon/pseuds/MoonSpoon
Summary: Zib and Mitzi have a long overdue heart to heart on the morning of her wedding
Relationships: Atlas May/Mitzi May, Mitzi May/Dorian "Zib" Zibowski
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Mirror in the Mirror

Zib’s head was pounding. Even with his eyes closed, the distinct thump of a hangover beat steadily and unforgivingly through his skull. He knew for certain that the slightest movement would only worsen the feeling. His body disagreed with being conscious and protested by breaking into a cold sweat. Nausea set in, daring him to attempt anything but complete and total stillness. Everything was horrible. He was too hot, he was too cold, his joints ached, but he knew better than to stretch. His current position buried under his band mates prevented him from moving even an inch, but even their breathing was too much. Zib clenched his eyes shut tighter. Even that made him want to vomit. 

Even worse, the band was starting to rouse as well. 

Sy moved first, shoving Zib’s legs off his lap and heaved himself to his feet with a groan. He stumbled wordlessly to the other end of the room, feet dragging far too loudly against the hard wood. Sy was usually so quiet, but now he sounded like a god damn parade, stomping around like he was. He poured a glass of water that sounded more like a waterfall. The clatter of glass sounded like gunshots. The rattling of a pill bottle opening was a hellish cacophony that felt like a drill between Zib’s eyes. Mozzie sat up, disentangling himself from the pile and stretching, evidently less affected than his band mates. 

“Morning lads.” he said. 

“Please stop screaming.” Ben croaked. 

“What time is it?” Sy asked as he reappeared from the kitchen. 

“Time for you to stop screaming.” Ben answered. 

Zib allowed himself the smallest movement, pushing his paw over his eyes in hopes he could crush the pain out of them like fruit. God, musicians just never shut up. He too felt sickened to offer even a slurred moan of pain. He wished he was dead. Surely dead people felt better than this? Perhaps if he laid very, very still, he could will his soul to leave his body and ascend into whatever primordial plane awaited those who drank entire liquor stashes to cope with heartbreak. Then he also wouldn’t have to deal with the emotional agony he’d been trying to escape for almost a whole year now. 

“I’m calling her. You two gotta have a talk, Zibowski.” Sy said, heading towards the hallway, rubbing his temple as he went. 

“She’s getting married today.” Mozzie protested. “Just let her have that, and she can deal with him afterwards.” 

“She’s not as heartless as he made her out to be. She’ll want to put it right, and I’ll bet you a dollar if I ask her over, she’ll be here.” 

“You don’t have a dollar.” Mozzie said. 

“Ben, can I borrow a buck?” Sy asked. 

“If you just stop screaming.” Ben said, rubbing his eye tiredly. 

Sy grinned and punched Mozzie lightly in the shoulder as he left to make the call. Mozzie retreated into the kitchen, more horrible clacking of glasses and running water and too loud pill bottles followed his retreat. Zib wished they would all just leave. Leave him in silence, leave him in pain, leave him to wallow in whatever stupor he’d drunk himself into. But they were too nice to him. Dear god, they were too nice to him, and so they stayed. 

Zib heard Mozzie coming back, and felt a cold glass being knocked gently against his head. It was followed by the less gentle sensation of Ben pushing him up and swatting him, albeit it lightly across the face. 

“Come on.” Ben said, shaking him a little. “Mitzi’s getting married today and you said you would go, so come on.” 

“Why in the holy hell would I say I would go?” 

“You said a lot of shit last night, but you said you would go because you love her and want her to be happy.” Mozzie said, putting the glass of water in Zib’s paw and helping him lift it to his mouth. “And you also said it because Sy called you pathetic and you were trying to prove you weren’t. But I like to think it was mainly the first part.” 

“You need a bath.” Ben said, nose wrinkling. 

“Fuck off, Ben.” Zib grumbled. 

He took small sip of the water. It was icy and wet of course, but it so contrasted the dryness of his mouth and throat that his nausea peaked. He cursed, coughing and sputtering. He pushed Ben out of the way and tripped towards the bathroom. He barely noticed the sharp pain of slamming his shoulder into the doorway or the even worse pain of his knees hitting the cold, tiled floor, or his head clonking against the toilet seat as his stomach clenched and he vomited. The sudden action worsened the hangover considerably. If he didn’t feel like he was spiraling down the drain before, he certainly did now. Every part of him ached, inside and out. The cold sweat was back, and he couldn’t breathe. 

There were several horrible seconds where he couldn’t tell up from down, before he felt Ben’s arms wrap around his middle and heave him up with little effort. 

“Oh god, don’t do that.” Zib moaned, hanging limply in the bass player’s hold. 

“Alright, idiot.” Ben said. “You smell, you’re covered in sick, and Mitzi is gonna be here in the next hour, so get in the tub.” 

Mozzie already had the faucet running. The water was freezing when Ben lowered Zib in, being careful not to fully submerge him. It was too damn cold, and Zib would have complained if he could speak without tasting vomit. Mozzie took a seat on the floor next to the tub, resting the back of his head against the cold rim. Ben’s arm was still hooked around Zib’s chest to prevent him from sliding in completely and drowning. Zib wished he would let go. Then maybe he wouldn’t have to talk to Mitzi. Or go to her stupid wedding. 

He felt Ben’s forehead drop against the crook of his neck in exhaustion. Mozzie reached back and handed them both the pill bottle, which Ben took without looking. 

“I’m not gonna go.” Zib said quietly. 

“Tell her that.” Ben said, crunching one of the pills dry, like the complete weirdo he was. 

“You said you would.” Mozzie said, turning and folding his arms against the rim of the tub as he turned the water off. 

“And she said she was gonna love me forever.” Zib said pathetically. Ben ruffled his hair pityingly. “I think I get to opt out of this one, Moz.” 

“Tell her that.” Ben said again. 

“Fuck, you put him in the tub? That’s his only suit.” Sy said as he leaned against the doorway. 

“Zib’s not going.” The bass and piano players said at the same time. 

“Tell her that.” Sy said. “She’s on her way.” 

Zib sighed, wishing Ben would let him go so he could drown. He didn’t want to see Mitzi. He’d tried very hard not to see Mitzi. For almost a year he’d tried very, very hard to keep his distance. Not just because the very sight of her made him feel like he was never going to stop falling into the vast void of being forever unloved and alone, but also because he was angry with her. 

Zib had spent many years teaching himself not to be angry with anyone. It was part of the middle child package; he was never allowed to be angry. So, he channeled all his fury and misery into creativity and music. He channeled it into drugs and drinking, gambling, and one-night stands. Years spent burying his anger in less than healthy coping mechanisms made it difficult to figure out how to handle it when he didn’t have anywhere to hide it. He’d spent the last year of his life struggling not to show how mad he was. 

Mitzi had left him. 

He’d come and gone in relationships. He’d had his fun, but with Mitzi it had been different from all the others. She was more than just a pretty face. She made him realize he might be enough. When he thought about how she’d chosen to be with him, chosen to love him, he’d considered that maybe he was indeed worth something. Maybe he was finally enough..... 

Evidently, he was not. All the love songs and promises, and slow mornings where they held each other and said silly nonsensically, private things were not enough. She wanted diamonds. She wanted riches. She wanted all the things he would have sold his soul to give her. 

Oh god, his head hurt so much. 

“I wish I was dead.” he moaned voice breaking. He rubbed the heel of his paw against his eye, soapy water stinging it terribly. “I wish I was dead. I would rather die than go.” 

Mozzie sleepily looked away, and Ben tightened his hold, hugging lazily. Sy dragged himself over and joined Mozzie on the floor. 

“I know.” Sy said. “I know this is hard, but you said a lot last night, and you have to talk to her. I promise you; this will help. Just have this one last talk with her, and then you’re done. Just do this one last thing.” 

The four of them sat in silence after that. The silence helped. It let him think about what he was supposed to say to the woman he hadn’t stopped loving even on the day of her wedding. He thought about being angry, just giving in and letting all the fury he’d been drowning in binge drinking and morphine to rear its ugly head. Mitzi had never seen him angry. Hell, he hadn’t seen himself angry in years. He’d worked so hard to not be angry, like he was saving it all up for a special occasion. Perhaps today was the right moment for it. 

It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to feel anger. Anger was powerful, and he’d feel more in control if he just let go. After all, Mitzi had hurt him deeper than he ever though he could be. She’d told him again and again how much she loved him, all while sneaking around with Atlas, the thrill of wrongdoing -on her part and Atlas’s- spurring her on. He wondered if she’d been lying to him at that point just to shut him up. The months leading up to their split weren’t easy. He didn’t know what he was doing wrong, or how to fix it. She’d just tell him she loved him and that things were fine. How easily the lies came to her. Had she always been so good at manipulating? Maybe he had loved her too much to tell.... 

Didn’t he deserve to feel mad about that? Didn’t he deserve to be able to shout at her? He’d felt so alone, so scared and angry, and out of his head that the idea of screaming at her felt so right. It would have been exciting to him if the sickness in his head and stomach weren’t still trying very hard to kill him. 

He could feel all the rage boiling inside him, and it felt good. He hated her. He hated her and he hated himself for promising her he would go to her stupid wedding. He’d rather be drowned in his own saxophone case than go. He’d rather be shot. He’d rather vanish off the face of the earth like their trombone player had. How could she expect that of him? After all she’d put him through, how could she-? 

There was a knock on the bathroom door. 

Zib turned his head to look before he could stop himself. The first thing he saw as the green of her eyes, then the lavender of her eyeshadow and the pink of her mouth, and the gold of her hair Then the white of her gown... 

Zib’s world became muffled and blurred, all except for her. Mitzi Soon To Be May stood in the dank, sick smelling bathroom, illuminated by a single beam of morning light, looking like an absolute angel. Her smile was small and awkward, but her eyes were confident and fixed on Zib like they could see his very soul. Seeing her in that gown was like seeing her for the first time all over again. 

The first time Zib had ever set eyes on her, he'd never seen anyone so clear and bright. Every little detail about her stood out to him. The golden flecks in her emerald eyes, the shy dimple she hid with a very well-practiced half smile, the way her sleepy gaze could hold someone so tightly. She was as beautiful as the day he’d first met her, and his heart broke all over again. 

His bandmates were all saying things he couldn’t hear. Probably telling her she looked gorgeous. They were nothing by unimportant noises he blocked out as he stared at Mitzi. She walked in, lighter than air. She practically glided. Zib felt Ben’s arms release him as he and the others slunk out of the room to give them their moment of privacy. The door shut. Mitzi leaned against the sink, eyelids closing as she gracefully removed one of her white, satin gloves and plucked a cigarette from the tiny purse fastened around her wrist. She smelled of peonies and smoke, a strange mixture, but she always excelled in making the unusual seem like perfection. 

She lit the cigarette, inhaling deeply, then releasing the breath in a sweet, quiet sigh. 

“I’m getting married today.” she said, a slight strain in her voice. 

Zib lowered his gaze, the statement breaking the love-sick spell that she’d cast over him simply by being there. 

“Yeah.” He muttered bitterly. 

She regarded him once more with those emerald eyes that he once loved to be the object of. Now he felt suddenly ashamed to have her look at him when he was...this. Hungover, reeking of alcohol and sick, and not having a single clue what had happened between them the night before. There was a time when she would simply tell him what she was thinking, or better yet, what he was thinking. But now she waited on him to speak first as smoke patiently wafted through her parted lips and curled beautifully through the sun rays. 

She mercifully broke the silence first. 

“I know you’re not particularly happy with me.” 

Zib tried to focus very hard on the rust covering the tap rather than the look she was giving him, but that became harder to do once she carefully came over to sit on the edge of the tub, sliding her heels off and letting them clatter to the tiled floor. 

“You’re not happy with me, and you haven’t been since things....ended the way they did.” 

“What do you want me to say?” he asked quietly, still refusing to look at her. 

“What do you want to say, Zib?” she asked him right back. “You’ve done a really good job of not saying anything that’s been going on in that head of yours.” 

“I don’t have anything to say.” 

“You had an awful lot you tried to articulate last night. I mean, a lot of it was gibberish, and a lot of it didn’t make a lot of sense, but you had a lot on your mind.” 

“Yeah? Well, I don’t think it was anything that mattered.” 

Mitzi hesitated, then gently reached out, plucking the washcloth up from the other end of the tub and dipped it into the cold water, letting it soak a moment as the uncomfortable silence reared its head between them again. She lifted it to Zib’s cheek, scrubbing away a spot of sweeter liquor that had clung to him overnight. 

“Nothing that could change my mind, but something that mattered I think.” she said. “Two things that mattered. The first really was gibberish, and to be honest,” she laughed a little. “It was kind of the funniest I’ve ever heard. But the second....the second sounded almost like something you should have gotten off your chest ages ago.” 

She was right. She was always right. Zib had always loved and hated that about her. He bit the inside of his cheek and scowled hard at the rust, wanting to ignore the way she cupped his cheek and turned his face to look at her. Her perfectly lined eyebrows knitted together pleadingly. 

“I came here because I want to hear you. You were so upset, and it mattered to you. Whatever you were yelling meant so much, and I wanted to hear you.” 

Zib sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I am not going to forgive you, and I hate you.” He said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “And you look beautiful.” 

Mitzi laughed again, putting her cigarette out before it was done. “Thank you. For someone who was throwing up with you in an alley only a few hours ago, I’d say I’ve achieved new levels of radiance.” 

“You did a shit thing leaving the way you did.” Zib continued. Mitzi took his paw, squeezing it reassuringly. “Was it all a waste of time?” 

"Oh....honey, no.” Mitzi said. “Sometimes things just-” 

“Mizti, I swear to god, if you’re about to tell me sometimes things just end-” 

“But they do, Zib.” 

She was holding his face with both paws now. She slid off the edge of the tub and knelt on the bathroom floor and staring very hard at him. “Things end. They do not end quietly, or nicely, or fairly.” 

“You are so full of shit.” Zib said sharply, pulling away from her. Water sloshed onto the floor, but she didn’t move out of the way. “You are so full of- That's really what you’re going with? You left me for our boss, who you’d been sleeping with for months! And now you’re marrying him!” 

“It just happened, Zib. I told you that. Things just end.” 

“Because you wanted them to!” 

“Yes!” Mitzi said. She wasn’t yelling. She would have yelled at him in the past, but then again, he wouldn’t have yelled at her. “I wanted them to end, and I didn’t have the guts to do something about it until Atlas made it clear I had to choose. And I chose him. I left you, I hurt you, and now I’m here to ask if you still want to come to my wedding like you said you would last night.” 

Zib snarled angrily, rubbing his paws roughly over his face as he tried to think past the horrible pounding in his head that had increased the moment Mitzi started talking. “I hate you so much.” he growled. “I hate you so fucking much!” 

“And I want you to! I want to make this right.” She insisted. “You said last night, you hated me, and I accept that. You also said you would always love me, and I will not accept that.” 

“What?!” he yelled, lurching forward, their faces inches apart. More water sloshed out. Mitzi’s heels were drenched. She didn’t even look at them. “You can’t accept that the guy you left hanging still loves you? That’s such a fucking shame, Mitzi! I can’t imagine what you must be fucking going through!” 

Mitzi stayed put. Zib had to hand it to her, she was taking this like a champ. She usually would have broken out the water works by now had anyone else spoken to her like this. But she sat, still as a statue, the hem of her dress slightly damp. She lit another cigarette, inhaling again, and holding the smoke for much longer before releasing it. 

“Yeah.” She said. “You can’t fucking imagine what it’s like knowing your best friend is never going to take the pieces of his heart back and move on.” 

“Oh, shut up.” Zib snapped, falling back into the water and crossing his arms over his chest. He looked away. He hated her so much. 

They both went quiet again. So quiet they could hear the rest of the band pretending they weren’t pressed against the door listening in. The anger Zib had thought so much about ebbed through him, but it didn’t feel like he thought it would. It felt awful. There was nothing cathartic about this. He felt like he wanted to cry. There was no wave of freedom that came with releasing all his fury in some sort of butchered proclamation. He felt.... 

Broken. 

He’d been so angry for so long and feeling it....feeling it made everything so real. Mitzi had left him. Mitzi was getting married to Atlas May. He couldn’t stop it, no matter how much he screamed and cursed, insulted, or begged. He’d lost her. 

His eyes stung, his nose itched. He sniffed angrily and shoved the heel of his paw against his eye again to stem the childish tears that were threatening to prove how hurt he really was. 

“Dorian.” Mitzi said. She was breaking. He wished he could take some pride in that, but he only felt even worse. “It’s not fair of me to let you think you’ll ever have me again. You won’t. I am marrying Atlas today, in a hoity-toity church, much too early in the morning, with the worst hangover I have ever had in my life. But I am going through with it. I am not going to be yours ever again, and I would never forgive myself for letting you think you can just settle back into the past and wait around for me to join you. I couldn’t live with myself, knowing your life ended the minute I walked out of it. I want you to be happy, and if hating me brings you one step closer to that happiness, then that can be your wedding gift to me.” 

Zib didn’t trust himself to speak. He could feel his throat throbbing with the urge to scream, cry, and yell. His head hurt so much. He wanted to die. Instead, he shut his eyes. It made it easier to not have to see her shatter him all over again. He lifted her paw, pressing a desperate kiss to it. She leaned forward against the tub, resting her head against his. 

“Last night, after not talking to me for a whole year, you said you were angry at me. You said you hated me, you loved me, and you would come to my wedding today. I want you there so badly. Even if we weren’t meant to be lovers, I don’t think I could stand not having you as my friend.” 

“I don’t know how to stop loving you....” Zib whispered. 

“Well, watching me marry a man fifteen years my senior is a start.” 

Zib couldn’t help but give a sharp laugh. “Mitzi, be honest. He’s only ten years older and you know it.” 

Mitzi snorted, slapping him lightly upside the head. “Don’t be mean to the bride.” 

They stared at each other, another silence falling. This one was less painful. Zib studied her face, every detail he could find. Her eyelashes were curled perfectly, her green eyes watching him from underneath. There was a time when he could have found the secrets of life in those eyes, but he realized for the first time in a very long time, that he felt more confused than ever looking into them. The woman he loved, with green, sleepy eyes never would have hurt him this way. In all the years they’d known each other, in all the fights, the late-night talks, the moments of weakness, boredom, restlessness, passion, and genuine love, Mary-Ellen Montgomery never would have hurt him. 

But he was looking at Mitzi May. He didn’t know for how long he’d been looking at her, but he saw her clearly for the very first time. She was lovely. She smelled of smoke and peonies. The hem of her dress was damp, her hair was blonde and sleek, and the callouses on her fingers had faded long ago. 

“Come to the wedding.” Mitzi whispered. 

Zib broke away from her gaze, sliding down a little further until the water came up to his neck. He didn’t know if he could survive watching her marry Atlas. But he knew for certain he’d die waiting for her to come back to him. 

And a swift death was better than a long, slow, painful one. 

"My suit’s wet.” he mumbled, ears drooping. 

“And you’ve splashed all over my dress.” Mitzi chuckled, flicking her cigarette into the bath. It hissed pitifully before sinking. “We’ll say we fell in a puddle on the way over. Or I can just make Mordecai lend you one. Granted it’ll probably come with a list of care instructions and carefully worded threats should you sit incorrectly in it, but it would be dry at least.” 

Zib glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. His head hurt. His heart hurt. But she was right. She was always right. Zib had always loved and hated that about her. 

“I’m gonna be angry with you for a long time.” he said finally. 

Mitzi smiled and pulled herself to her feet, grabbing her shoes off the floor as she went. She pressed a kiss to Zib’s forehead. 

“Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> based on the newest drawing Tracy posted of these two. I wanted try challenging myself with something a little more emotional this time around.


End file.
